Soverign Alliance
by Cybernetic Exposure
Summary: Tony Stark receives a strange visitor with an interesting query. Stark/OC.


There were always certain predicaments that should never have been experienced. And on the list of things Tony Stark wanted to do today, none of them included butting heads with the most stubborn woman in the world. Now, he had a keen eye for detail and certainly paid attention to what needed his attention, but there were just some occasions in which he was not on top of his game. In fact, these were the times when he often found himself in the most trouble of all...and it was a rather burdensome detail.

Tawny hair, sharp cheekbones, fair skin without a blemish (or so it looked to him), furious blue-green eyes and an attitude. A big one. She was worse than he was on every level, and it definitely bothered him. She had smaller breasts than he would have liked, but women weren't made out of clay casts, and a cute little ass that switched when she walked with more determination. His eyes always seemed to fall down to her rear when they were going somewhere. But rewind here, for a second, because you have no idea who the hell he's even talking about...isn't that just like Tony Stark? His mind all in the gutter?

--

She mounted the steps to his abode with sincere determination in every stride. Turning slightly to face her car - a black 1967 Ford Mustang - and set the alarm for it. When she turned back to the door she merely pressed the tips of her fingers against the computer pad beside the handle, punching the codes into the system as if she lived there. In all actuality, she did not. The computer recognized the codes and the door jarred open and in came the willowy brunette with a grin that dared duel the Cheshire Cat's own. She was shameless, and as it were, very good at her particular set of skills. And with a map in her mind, she winded her way through the Stark Manor and punched all of the necessary codes in to access Tony Stark's work station and down the stairs she went with less curious eyes than those who first saw it. Once more, it was as if she had been there before.

To her dismay, the work space was empty and she frowned out her displeasure in finding the most favoured room of the home's owner to be missing. But she did not tarry in snooping around, and the hand of hers that was not holding the black leather briefcase began feeling the various creations out of interest. Digits found the various skeletons of new Iron Man suits to come and explored their scapes and caverns with the delicate touch of a first-time lover. She was so engrossed that she had not bothered to notice her company.

He cleared his throat and screwed up his features so that he looked so very concerned and angry - and he was very concerned, but not so much the latter - as a sopping wet man in a towel could. If she had paid an ounce of attention to the entire room she would have noticed the door tucked in the corner and what it may have lead to. Apparently it was a bathroom, and apparently the owner of the house had been cleansing himself of grease and oil. "And what are you doing in my work space? Or...who are you?"

She turned her head rather quickly, eyes wide, and gasped very softly. Quirking her own brow, she hesitantly removed a splayed palm from his suit and let the arm fall to her side. Expression switched, moving from surprise to judgmental as she rounded the work area once more and came to one of his various benches. The fingers of his right hand clasped the towel where it tucked into itself, his lips pressing tightly together. He was expectant of an answer and obviously very impatient.

"Ms. Gray," his intruder finally answered, a smile peeling at her lips. Tony Stark seemed much less than amused, however, "And I have a business proposition for you."

"I don't see why you couldn't have called my company. And how did you get in? I don't handle business personally unless otherwise planned. You're going to have to leave."

With a roll of her eyes, the woman's fingers felt for the lock of her briefcase. After a moment, she popped the lid open and reached in for a file, handing it in Tony's direction, "You'll want to have a look at that before you dismiss me." Before he could utter even a questioning grunt, she continued, "Your social security number. Your date of birth, address. What schools you attended, who your physicians are. All of your stock and financial records. Your bank account information, license plate and PIN numbers. All of the access codes to your house and business and all of your personal files on any of your computers, inclusive of ghost drives and remote access points. At my fingertips in two hours time. So you'll want to listen, please, Mister Stark."

His eyes traced the various bits of information on each of the many pages. She didn't lie, he concluded, and indeed it would be in his very best interest to listen to what she had to say. So, for once in his life, he shut up and merely glared at the woman with such an intense disgust that he wanted to hit her. Of course he wouldn't, and women were surely evil, but she had been in his presence for all of five minutes. And he didn't even know her. And she was already working his very last nerve. "Speak."

Her smile was triumphant, and he could see the definitive light in her eyes accompanying her success. "I'm unsure if you know of a company by the name of Sovereign Alliance. They're a major medical company whom has produced various breakthrough cures and medicines. Avian flu a few years ago, swine flu this past...so on," she acknowledged his nod of understanding, and his quickly waning interest, "They've become interested in cybernetics. If you could say...you've incensed them with your speech six months ago. And your technology. They're a fluke company, though. They've manufactured every illness they've cured and vended it out to the public...waiting a few months before releasing a miracle cure and have made bank off of it."

"Sounds like almost every other medical company in the world. What's your point and where do I become interested?" Tony growled, pushing loose strands of his sopped hair from his face. The woman cleared her throat and continued, "The Alliance is conducting rather dangerous tests on innocent people. A lot of good people are suffering, and a lot have died. You're some kind of super hero now...this is your cup of tea, or so the news would have me believe. But more to the point - I have access to some of the most secretive of their plans. Apparently they're building "Medic Suits" for battlefields...so medics can run out and help our fallen boys with less worry of death. But if you go further into their systems...it's a cover-up. They're manufacturing war machines, and planning on selling them to competing nations. There are upgrades to these suits that even your technology has not thought through or brushed up yet. And I'd be willing to sell them to you with your help."

His eyebrow quirked at many of her statements, evident of his interest in the topic, and he thought for a moment before speaking, "Name, first. And no cute-sy titles and the last again. Full name if I'm going to work with you. More information. How do you know this company? How did you get their personal files - and mine? Why me?"

"I'm a hacker," she responded softly, and in a rather bored tone. She reached across the table with an indifferent expression and snatched the personnel file she had handed him - his eyes flickered to the slight exposure of cleavage and back to her expression, "And I work for this company. But as a hacker - and the best you will ever find - I have discovered a certain few things that I do not approve of. And as a slightly moral person, I want to do the right thing...bring the company to its knees."

"Mhmn. And your name? Who are you?" He pressed his hips into the table to ensure the towel was fastened as he crossed his arms over his chest. He knew the science of a commanding presence. She glanced at his flesh quickly and smirked.

"Dahlia Emmeline Gray. Twenty-nine years of age. Employ of the Sovereign Alliance medical division located out of Malibu, as well as seven other country-wide locations. Natural brunette. Blue-green eyes. 34B bra, because I know you're looking when you think I'm not. Five foot seven and one-hundred and twenty pounds. I like music and writing from time-to-time. I'm not known to party and I've never been to a club. And I'm good for a few screws before lunch. Anything else? Panty colour? First time I lost my virginity? Or are we ready to move on?"

"No, we're good." A smirk claims his lips, "Now be a good girl and wait upstairs. I'm assuming you know where that is? I have to get changed and think over a few things."

And just like the playboy Anthony Stark had raised himself to be, he threw one of those devilishy knowing smiles at the hacker and turned from the table when he saw he snap the case closed and lift it from the table. She gripped the handle of the door and gave him one final glance as she pulled it open, just enough time to see his figure walking away and peeling the towel from his body. Glory be if there weren't still water droplets running right down his lovely behind.

--

"A few terms."

Tony began the moment he pushed the door open, ascending the last step that led from his workplace to his hall. Dahlia - the hacker - perched very effeminately upon the large cushy couch in one of his many living rooms. He had clad himself in sweatpants and a white tee, very lazy, and his reactor shone strongly but casually through the fabric. He just managed to notice her glance at its circular shape and then back to his face. She waited expectantly, her lips in a slight pout.

"I help you, you work for me. Not for the Stark Industries. For me, Tony Stark. In this house, under my jurisdiction." And she opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off quite frankly, "Live-in. Meaning no apartment out of town. No sneaking away. If I'm going to help you, you're staying where I can watch you."

"I'm not a secretary. You have Miss Potts for that-"

"My terms or nothing. And sell my information to whomever you want, I'll have all accounts closed so fast your head will spin your cute little ass right to court. I have better lawyers than you."

Dahlia snorted. "I'm not contesting that. What I am saying is that I am not your maid. I will not clean your kitchen, wash your feet, kiss your ass, fuck you silly-"

"Did I mention any of that? I never stated what you would be doing. All I want to know is two things: one, are you going to agree to my terms?" His expression was more amused than serious as he held her with firm and dark eyes. He noted how she fidgeted slightly under the intensity of his gaze. It was oddly pleasing.

"And two?" She flecked her tongue out and waved it over her lower lip - wetting it, he assumed.

"Answer one, first."

And she was silent for a moment. Her furious eyes did not move from his face, examining it for a weakness that she could exploit. Her attempt was cute, really, but useless. He knew what he wanted and why, and it was better she didn't know right now, "Fine."

He knew she would agree. And he knew when she asked again, less patient and more demanding, "And two?"

Holding out a hand to her, he prompted for her to shake on her deal. She extended the delicate fingers of her right hand to his own, clasping them around his palm and giving a shake that was entirely too firm for any woman. A knowing smirk tainted her lips slightly and she thought he had not noticed, "What's your catch, is two?"

"Pardon me?" She retracted her hand, smoothing is down the leg of her business-skirt. He noted the length of her legs - slender and muscled gently. Milky, crossed in a very womanly gesture. Dahlia gazed up at him with doe-like curiosity, "I don't know what you mean."

"Catch. Something wrong with you. Something that damages you." Not-so-polite, but she pushed for it. She did not seem offended.

"Mister Stark, I assure you that I have no damage."

"Mmn," he nodded, "Going to have to work on not lying to your new boss."

--

And therein lay his predicament. With a beautiful woman in one of his many large and accommodating guest bedrooms, he had alerted a certain Pepper Potts to the arrival of a new and permanent guest. A day and a half in and most of her things had already been moved in to her quarters, which had taken on a girlish charm to them. He could tell she was going to be a very, very difficult woman to live with. But he asked for it.

Right?


End file.
